


We All Fall Down

by CatBones



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Men Crying, Non-Linear Narrative, Please give Phasma back to us, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Repressed Emotions, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, darth tantrum shit fits, emotional breakdowns, implied underlying mood disorder, just straight up suffering, kyluxsma if you want to see it that way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-06 00:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13399887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatBones/pseuds/CatBones
Summary: Kylo and Hux have lost something incredibly dear to them.They self-destruct.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is post-TLJ and Phasma-centric, therefore containing major spoilers. It's mainly a series of interconnected vignettes that are really more of an exploration of the dynamics between Phasma, Kylo, and Hux than a proper linear story, because lets face it--Phasma really didn't get enough screen time, despite being such an important facet of the First Order. I've decided to try and pick apart the relationship between the triumvirate and work out just how crucial--and close--she was to to her counterparts that the movies failed to touch on.  
> This isn't intended to be Kyluxsma, but you can view it as so if you want, and there's plenty of heavily implied Kylux. Marked as mature because this may become NSFW in the future; we'll see how things go. What you can expect, though, is just straight up suffering.  
> Enjoy.

Together, they are the triumvirate that holds the First Order together.  
They are the three that form the beast that makes it move, makes it tick.

Ren is the teeth; sharp and vicious and cruel, killing with his words just as easily as his fangs. Merciless and heavy handed, he reaches out with razor claws and ravages everything in his path.

Hux is the head; all-seeing, ever present. Through him the beast speaks, through him it pulls the strings. With gilded words he wraps his enemies around his finger, making them easier to crush; with a single command he shatters planets and rips stars from the sky.

If Hux and Ren are the head and teeth, then Phasma…Phasma is the _blood_. She's made of iron and her will surges through the behemoth, feeding it, sustaining it. She brings everything together and holds it with unwavering strength, carefully balancing the teeth and the head in such a manner so that neither could outweigh the other.  
Without her, the other two can't survive.

Which is why, when the news was broken to them, they crumpled, collapsed, bit at each other until they spat blood.

_Report in. Have you located Captain Phasma?_

_...I’m afraid she’s still missing in action, Sir._

Every mention of her name was another stone dropped into their stomachs.

* * *

 

Ren copes with the news in the only way he knows; scream, rage, smash, repeat.

Every morning when the troops rise, one will inevitably find another piece of equipment that had been smashed in the middle of the night, see the walls that had been warped from the immense mental pressure of a horrifically powerful being in distress, notice the deep trenches in the ground where the tip of a searing sword was dragged as its owner made his way back to his quarters to scream.

Nobody says a word about it.  
It’s just business as usual.

Hux deals with the demons differently. He stays up later, works harder, eats less, demands more. His grieving is internalized, repressed, never bubbling up to the surface like Ren’s. _I’m fine_ , he snaps; his words cut with a sharp edge, a warning for those who try to probe too far. Cups of black coffee and cigarettes become his fuel for a hard day’s work. During the late hours, while the rest of the _Finalizer_ sleeps, the night shift hears him prowling the catwalks, datapad in hand, pacing with a cup of coffee as he works himself to the bone.

What he’s pushing himself so hard to achieve, nobody knows.  
Nobody dares ask.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again. Hope you all are okay with the two-vignette-per-chapter formatting. If you have any suggestions, feel free to leave a comment. I'm liking the current formatting, but expect some longer single vignettes in the future as I pick these characters apart.  
> Enjoy.
> 
> Content warning: Starvation as an unhealthy coping mechanism mentioned in the second half.

It’s easy to see that the two men are being pulled apart at the seams; neither can hold their composure for longer than a day before starting to slowly unravel. Ren spends more time in the General’s quarters while off duty. At first, there’s nothing to the visits. They only last for just a few meagre minutes.  
But minutes soon turn into hours.  
Hours turn into countless nights.

 _One more time_ , Hux says; his voice strains to keep calm. Kylo simply silences the General by placing a finger over pale lips and closes his eyes, concentrates, spreads out invisible arms to comb the universe for a sign of that incredible life force that pulsated so fiercely. He tries and tries again, reaches out with the Force, searches for any sign of life that they can hold onto; a flash of a face, a heartbeat, a single breath— _anything_. Anything at all.

She has to be out there.  
She can’t just disappear like that.

All of his mental power is spent; little pearls of cold sweat speckle his forehead and Kylo has to end his search for the night. Tonight is no exception; it always ends the same way.

_Nothing._

The knight lowers his eyes, snarls, curses the universe for what it’s done to him—for how it’s failed him—before he draws his knees up to his chest and clasps shaking hands around them. Both men sit in silence and brood, each telling themselves the same thing:

_We will try again tomorrow._

* * *

 

 _  
The General has lost a lot of weight recently,_ Kylo overhears as he passes an officer in the hall. Everyone seems to have noticed; there’s so many thoughts concerning Hux buzzing about the _Finalizer_ that it’s hard for Kylo _not_ to probe into their minds. Not when everyone is thinking so loudly.

He makes his way to the bridge and can see the ghost of a familiar figure standing in front of the command console. He notices the heavy bags that hang under darkened eyes, pale skin that hasn’t seen proper sun or star light in days, a wisp of a waist—all signs of someone who’s withdrawn from this world. Kylo doesn’t need to probe his thoughts to know Hux is all torn up on the inside.

Kylo’s all torn up, too.

He takes his spot next to the General;  
He doesn’t invade his space, but he stands close enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more comfort in this installation, but just as much hurt. Hope you all are enjoying this so far.

 

He can see it in Hux’s eyes.

The general’s eyes are cold to begin with, though: steel blue and sharp, the kind that follow you across the room, the kind that when put under their gaze makes you feel very, very small.  
Kylo can see what others can’t, though, and what he sees now is pain and suffering—but most noticeably, _longing._  
And when he stares too long into those eyes, he feels it too. The emptiness. The vacuity. It’s painful and yet he continues to look, hurting himself more and more.  
He wants to share the pain, though.  
He wants to hurt, too.

Kylo knows it all too well; He understands, because he’s missing her, too.

There’s an empty space between them that their captain used to inhabit, one that neither of them have succeeded in filling yet. They turn to each other in an attempt to soothe the hollowness, try to bridge that gap—however, they find that they’re still light years apart.

Hux falls asleep at night curled up into Kylo like a little cat; the knight strokes his hair, places a hand on the back of his head and draws him in closer to his heart. This is their attempt at keeping the loneliness at bay, to stop the ever growing numbness from completely consuming them. But their comfort is ephemeral, and when they wake in the morning the same sadness begins to seep back into them. They try to ignore it, push it into the backs of their minds, but it only makes it worse.

The hole is permanent.

It will never go away as long as she is.

* * *

 

 

 _Just one more_ , he says to himself, fingers quickly breaking the seal on the large envelope. They just need to be read over, annotated, approved, stamped, sealed. He just finished nineteen packets; twenty wouldn’t hurt.

Hux looks at the clock—he’d normally be waking up at this time.

 _Just this last one, then no more_ , he reassures himself.  
Then he can go back to monitoring the scanners.  
  
They’re still searching.  
They’re still hoping.

He’s like a watchdog, ever vigilant, waiting for the ping of a scanner that’s finally picked up the signal of a tracking device in a chromium helmet. Hux scans the documents, pen in hand, taking notes and scribbling revisions as needed. His vision has been blurring for hours, however, and when the pen finally slips from his left hand he attempts to stay awake, to fight the exhaustion that’s been chewing at him for hours. He holds out until fatigue finally wins and then he’s asleep on his desk, head nested in folded arms.

Slowly, the greatcoat hanging on the back of his chair slips off and drapes over his shoulders, moved by unseen hands.

A black-cloaked figure is standing in the doorway; he lingers for a moment before the lights cut out and the door slides closed.

Kylo should really be sleeping, too.  
Instead, he heads to the scanning consoles for another long day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a single vignette this time; My weekend was crazy as hell. Back to college on Wednesday so you might only get one vignette for the next update, too. For all who are still with me, I'd just like to say thank you for being in it for the long haul. Feel free to leave any comments, constructive criticisms, or suggestions; it'd really mean a lot to me.  
> Enjoy.

Hux holes himself up in his quarters, pacing like a caged animal. He mulls the same thoughts over and over in his head every day, without fail, because they’re always in the back of his mind like a looming shadow, always persistent, always there.  
She’s the closest person to a sister he ever had and having her suddenly gone, absent, missing in action rattles him to the very core. Just the slightest mention of her name is enough to cause hairline cracks in the mask he wears so well.

She’s never coming back; he knows it in his heart but he won’t accept it. Can’t accept it. He refuses to think about the alternatives, yet the thoughts always creep in at the worst of times.

_She’s dead, floating in space._

_She was captured by the resistance and is rotting in a cell._

But the worst thought of all is that she's still alive.

_She survived, but now she’s on an unmarked and alien planet, shivering in the cold or burning in the sweltering heat. She’s out there starving, waiting for help, but will never be saved. And you will never get her back._

Enough is enough. He finally breaks.  
  
Hux throws his datapad across the room, grabs his face and screams into his hands as everything he's been holding down, holding back, surges up to the surface. He’s sick of this—He's always had a hard time grasping basic emotion, actually _feeling_ , but this isn’t what he wants. He doesn’t want to feel anything anymore, because now all he feels is _alone._ He’s tired of the aches and pains, he’s tired of the sleepless nights, he’s tired of the crushing mental implosions when everything becomes too much to handle. He’s a general, dammit. He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

He collapses into his chair, chest heaving, heart hurting. If she was here, this wouldn’t be happening. If she was here, things would be better. If she was here, he wouldn’t be a crumpled heap of unmanageable human emotion that, instead of fixing, he always suppresses. He hates this.

As he curls himself up in his chair, arms brought up around his head as if they could somehow stop the weight of this from crushing down on him, there's one last thought racing through his his head before he finally passes out from exhaustion.

_I'd rather feel nothing at all._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo finally implodes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another single vignette this time, slightly longer than the previous. College has started back up for me but hopefully it shouldn't interfere with writing. I'm thinking I might start uploading pieces on a schedule (Tuesdays and Fridays) since this fic is showing the potential to become pretty long. We'll see what happens; if y'all are enjoying this enough I'll most likely keep writing.  
> Enjoy.

_Supreme Leader._

The title still sounds so foreign to him.  
What’s even more foreign to him, however, is the countless hours he spends with the council, pushing pawns around like pieces on a playing field and being bored to tears with trivial matters such as budgets and politics.  
  
And now, he’s stuck with a datapad full of highly confidential documents and not the slightest idea of what to do with it. He scans the room desperately for the familiar sight of red hair; Hux is already gone.

_Little bastard._ The general knew what he’d be stuck with if he hung around for longer than he needed to.  
Whatever. Kylo has already made up his mind that he’ll have someone else deal with this headache. He swoops up the datapad and without even thinking shoulders it off to the figure at his right flank.

“I need you to send these down to engineering, Phas—"  
  
Kylo stops himself before he can finish his order, freezing in his tracks and he slowly looks over his shoulder; the officer at his side is wearing a puzzled look, hand still half-extended for the datapad. Ren crumples his face, purses his lips together tightly, and dismisses her away with a silent wave.

As soon as the room empties Ren is quick to close the doors.

_Idiot._

He slams his fist straight into the table and finds comfort in the sound of bone crushing into steel, in the searing pain that shoots through his arm, in the way that it makes him feel more in control and less like a fool. He’s so used to Phasma just being _there_. This isn’t just the first time he’s done this, either; Nor is this the second, or the third, or the fourth—he’s totally lost track of how many times he’s continued to make this error and it’s making him furious. He’s shaking now, his bottom lip quivers, his fingers are drawn into a fist so tightly that he can feels his nails cutting into his palm through the glove and he slowly draws it back, takes a moment to look at the crater in the table top.

_Idiot._

There’s no excuse for fucking up like this.  
He slams his fist back down into the table. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, warm and metallic, and he realises he’s bitten a hole right into his lip.  
He’s thinking about her again, and he hates himself for it. No matter how hard he smothers the thoughts and feelings, they always culminate into a horrible mess of uncontrollable emotion, buried memories, and the nearly irresistable urge to self-destruct. He needs her here; needs her so badly. He can’t do this on his own anymore—doesn’t want to—and now he’s trapped in the very position of power he hungered for for so long—and with nobody there to guide him.

The truth is, he doesn’t understand how to be a leader, or how to lead. He’s so used to bending the knee and taking orders from on high that now, with the sudden reversal of power, he’s become lost in the trenches. He’s terrified of the power, really.  
But mainly, he’s terrified of himself.

Kylo brings his fist down again. And again. And again. And again.

_Idiot._

When he rams it down for the last time his breathing is ragged, his eyes are wild, his hair is matted and damp and clinging to his face like a stubborn film. He doesn’t care about the metal flak that’s now embedded in his knuckles or the bright red ribbons that trail from the cuts. He’ll deal with it later.  
Quietly, he rectifies his posture, picks up the datapad, and calmly walks out the door like nothing had happened.

Her absence has gone through him like thread through a needle.  
He has all of the power in the world, and yet he can’t bring her back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very heavy on the Kylux, this chapter is.  
> Enjoy.

He nurses the swollen lip when he returns to his chambers, wipes his hand across his jaw and brings it up to his face to study the aftermath.  
Still bleeding.

Hux sighs and makes his way over to the mirror, a part of him reluctant to see the masterpiece that Kylo has made of his neck. Upon inspecting his reflection, he finds that he’s been peppered with bites and bruises from collarbone to jaw and he silently thanks the maker for their uniforms having high collars.

He cleans himself up and regains his composure quickly; he’s used to it at this point.  
Before he leaves he gives himself one last lookover in the mirror, focusing in on the busted lip like it’s some kind of scarlet letter.

He keeps falling into the same hole over and over again, and every time he tries to crawl out he only ends up deeper than he was before, and every time Ren is there, waiting for Hux to crawl to him. It’s escapism at its finest, and he knows it. He shouldn’t be this involved with Kylo; He shouldn’t be getting this _close_ to him. He silently chastises himself for allowing himself to become so weak.  
As he makes his way down the hall he runs his tongue over his lip, licking away the last traces of salt and blood and Ren’s musk.  
It’s not love, it’s not affection, it’s not compassion or desire. The only thing it is is a cheap painkiller, an irritating reminder of Ren, and a wound that he’s more than willing to reopen over and over again.

_I am made of steel. I won’t let this consume me,_ he reassures himself, very well knowing that he’s being swallowed whole.

He knows he’s fighting a losing battle. He won’t be able to numb the pain.  
But he can sure as hell try.

* * *

 

Kylo chews at his lip where the skin is torn, tastes the copper in his mouth.

He’s still in pain.

When he looks at himself in the mirror he sees the latticework of fresh scratches that adorn his chest and arms, takes note of the little drops of red that bead across them. He turns in front of his reflection, first to one side, then the other, eyeing the fresh wounds with near admiration. The general’s mark is unlike any other he’s had before. They’re not products of rage or violence or hate—they’re a sign of _presence._ Another human being was here; this is Armitage’s signature written in his very own ink.

Kylo looks himself over one last time before he begins the ritual of wrapping himself in his black cloth armour, and can’t help but feel astonished as he realises this was the first time in a very, _very_ long while that he’s allowed another person to imprint themselves on him in this way.

When did he let his guard down so easily? Armitage is like a stubborn thorn in his side, always there, always working his way in, and yet Kylo lets his guard drop so easily for the general take whatever he wants. The problem isn’t that he’s growing soft—it’s because Armitage’s touch does something that no one else’s has:  
  
It makes him _feel._  
  
He doesn’t care if it’s the pain that gives him this sudden rush of blood to the head every time they have an encounter; he grabs on to the feeling and holds it in his chest like it’s something precious.

The cuts are deep and sting, and Kylo very well knows that he’s going to be picking at these scabs for ages.  
  
But every scratch, every mark reminds him of the same thing whenever the pain flares up:  
_I am still alive._  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are progressing slowly but surely. Sorry for the late chapter; I've been trying to stick to updating on Tuesdays and Fridays, but college is getting more and more demanding so I may just shift to Friday uploads only. But, here it is. Let's keep breaking these poor bastards.  
> Enjoy.

 

He comes to Hux’s quarters visibly shaken.

The Knight, while prone to flying off of his handle in fits of rage, almost never shows up trembling and looking like a scared animal, which is how Hux knows that something is terribly, horribly wrong. It could only be an event of immense caliber that reduces Ren to a quaking pile on the chair, head in his hands, shoulders hunched defensively as if demons were after him, and Hux is unsure if he wants to know why.

The general rises from his chair and slowly makes his way over to the knight, moving the seat across from him so they can sit face to face.

“What happened?”

Kylo takes a moment to suck in a breath, choke down the sharp sobs that are ripping themselves from his body, and composes himself just enough to be able to speak.

“I had a dream,” his voice is low, almost inaudible. His eyes are distant and glazed over; he’s lost in his thoughts, a haze, and he’s desperately trying to pull himself out of it. “I had a dream.”

Hux shuffles nervously in his seat, swallows down anxiety. He knows that he’s balancing on the edge of a knife now; Ren’s dreams are never to be taken lightly. They’re uncannily accurate, almost prophetic, and nearly every single time…they’re true.

“Of what?” he asks.

Ren let’s out a gross sob; he looks pathetic with his darkened eyes, stringy hair, body curled up on the couch like a frightened animal.

 _“Of her_.”

Hux’s words won’t come out; they snag in his throat with razor claws.  
There’s a short yet deafening silence as both men take a moment to digest it all.

“I tried,” Kylo finally breaks the pause. “I tried so hard. I tried reaching out with so much of myself I made myself sick…But I still can’t find her.”

His words shatter all hope Hux was holding in his heart.  
Neither of them speak; They don’t know how to handle this.  
Slowly, Kylo extends his hand towards Hux. The general knows what do; he clasps the cold fingers with his .

“We have to hold on, Ren.”

Kylo twists his face into a frown and Hux feels the grip on his hand tighten.

 “I know. I know what we have to do, but I’m not sure if I can keep doing this.”  
He locks eyes with Hux and the general sees the pain in them, the puffy eyelids an angry shade of red.

“It’s tearing me apart, Armitage.”

Kylo is grabbing the general's hand with both of his now and doubles over, pressing them against his forehead. Sobs rip through him and the two men sit in complete silence as they grieve together, the only sounds punctuating the stillness in the room being the occasional soft beeps and whirs from the machinery in the ship.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well what do you know, I managed to squeeze in a Tuesday update. The slow burn continues; don't get too used to the fluff, though. Things are going to go down the shitter real soon (Because that's what you're here for, right?).  
> By the way: Thanks for all of the kudos and comments, you guys. It really means a lot. 
> 
> (Content Warning: Brief mention of child abuse; implied self-inflicted starvation/eating disorder)

 “Lose too much weight and you’re going to become as thin as a slip of paper.”  
  
The snide remark sends Hux over the edge.  
Silently and without warning he lunges at the officer, fingers grasping around the delicate throat like talons; He’s going to throttle this idiot to death for that kind of insubordination. The officer below him spits, gulps helplessly for air, and Hux wants nothing more than to hear their last breath hissing out of them like air from a popped tyre.

He’s nearly successful--almost there, just choke a little harder--but massive arms wrap around his waist and then he’s being pried off of his victim. He snarls at his suppressor, spits and yells to be let go, but the grip only tightens and he’s lifted off his feet. A gloved hand is placed on his forehead, lips press into his left ear telling him to relax, and Hux suddenly feels himself go limp, numb, his vision fades out, and when he finally comes to he’s laying on a cot in a dimly lit room.

“And they call _me_ the uncontrollable beast.”

Hux turns his head and looks over;  
It’s Ren.  
The knight is sitting in a chair across the room from him, hunched over, elbows on his knees; his many layers of flowing robes pool around him like spilled ink.

Hux opens his mouth to speak, but Kylo cuts him off with a slice of his hand through the air; There’s a look on the knight’s face that lets him know that he doesn’t need to explain himself and it makes Hux just a bit less anxious, because it’s a chore just to move. His vision is blurred, just the thought of moving makes him want to throw up, and he can only assume that Ren put him under with the force; he’s seen it happen enough times to know that when you finally regain consciousness, you get sicker than a dog.  
  
Quietly, Kylo rises from his seat, makes his way to the cot the general is laying on, and takes a knee beside it. Hux instinctively recoils when he sees the gloved hand coming at his face--the back of a hand is something from his childhood that he's been well acquainted with--but is surprised when it gently brushes away a few strands of stray hair instead. He squints at the figure; his vision is solid enough to just make out all of the knight’s important features—most notably, his eyes.

There’s an old saying that claims if you live long enough, you’ll see the same eyes in different people and now, as Hux stares into those black, hollow eyes, he sees himself, and he knows why.

They can feel each other’s pain; this is a burden that they’re shouldering together.  
It's funny how they had never been this close until now, but Hux guesses that when you've endured copious amounts of trauma you'll grasp on to anyone and anything in hopes that you can push the emptiness out--even if it means latching on to the person you despise the most. For reasons unknown, companionship and suffering have always seemed to go hand in hand for him.

“I…I’m sorry,” Hux unexpectedly breaks the silence, and he watches Kylo raise an eyebrow at him as if he misheard something.  
“I don’t know what came over me, Supreme leader, I just—”  
“Spare me the apologies,” Kylo cuts him off and Hux inwardly cringes as he prepares himself to be disciplined. He feels the sweat starting to bead at his brow and swallows down his nerves before rattling off the next automated apology. Snoke trained him well.

“Supreme Leader, I take full responsibility—”

“ _Armitage._ ”  
The use of his first name silences him for good and he stares at Kylo, confounded.  
“Stop apologising. I know why you did what you did.”

It takes Hux every ounce of resolve to not apologise for that, too; Instead, he leans his head back and stares at the ceiling.  
“…I wouldn’t have reacted this way if I was alright. If I was well—” Hux pauses and attempts to repress the terrible feeling that’s quickly rising from the pit of his stomach up to his throat.  
It’s his pride.  
He chokes it down.  
“…But I’m not well.”

Hux waits for some chastising comment, for the knight's temper to flare, to be called a “rabid cur”.  
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” comes Kylo’s soft reply instead as he rises to his feet, and Hux can hear that he’s trying his hardest to keep his voice from wobbling as he speaks.  
  
“I’m not well, either.”

Kylo bends forward, scoops his arms under the general, and hoists him up. He carries him out of the room.  
It's a long way back to the other side of the _Finalizer_ and Hux is completely silent; he's dizzy, dumbfounded, and a part of him refuses to believe that he's being carried all the way back to his quarters by the cruel and uncaring Kylo Ren. Maybe this is all some sort of freakish fever dream. Maybe he actually died back on the bridge when he was knocked out. Maybe this is some kind of sick joke.  
Or, maybe he should just stop thinking about it and accept the fact that somebody is showing him a genuine act of  _kindness._  
He had always been under the impression that those didn't exist.   
His thoughts run circles in his head so fast that it's exhausting and coupled with the gentle rocking of Kylo's stride as he's carried, Hux can't help but to succumb to sleep in the knight's arms. He needs the rest, desperately, but before he fades out he's comforted by a single thought:

_I won't have to be alone tonight._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last of the bi-weekly updates; I'll be moving to Friday-only posts from now on. College is getting a bit more demanding as the deadline for my graduating project approaches so updating twice a week is a bit much, but I'm still chipping away at this behemoth nonetheless. This vignette is the longest so far (Just a little over 1100 words) and hopefully that's not a problem; I just had some ideas that I really needed to get out.  
> Anyhow, enjoy.

He’s alone with his thoughts. 

Again.

As Hux lowers his head and lets the warm water run over him, he can’t help but feel terribly, horribly alone—and that’s because he is.

_I’m fine,_ he repeats to himself. He hopes that maybe one day he actually _will_ be, that maybe he’ll start believing it purely from simple repetition alone, but he knows he’s lying to himself.

_I’m fine._

His fears and anxieties dart about his mind like irritating little gnats and he swats them away as best he can, only for them to creep back into his stream of already overflowing thought. He knows he shouldn’t be pushing them down like this, knows it’s unhealthy, but he doesn’t know how to deal with them any other way.

Today, however, is exceptionally bad, and if having to deal with the two-tonne weight of depression that Phasma’s absence has crushed him under isn’t already bad enough, there’s another headache that’s been poking him in the side like a red-hot iron.

_Ren._

As if the pain of having somebody torn out of your life isn’t horrible enough, having somebody wiggle their way in to try and fill that gap is the proverbial cherry on top. It’s even worse if you’ve been habitually sleeping with said person, too.   
  
The worst part is, Hux doesn’t even know _where_ to start describing their relationship, let alone how to refer to Kylo as anything more than a human crutch to be leant on whenever he needs it. Yes—they’re using each other, admittedly, but the feeling is mutual and to be fair, it’s helping.   
  
Or at least it feels like it is.   
  
There’s a massive hole in both men that they’re desperately trying to fill, taking anything and everything they can to try and block up the massive vacuum that’s constantly sucking away their composure, their sanity, the light from their eyes.

They use each other as a temporary fix not just for the warming comfort provided by the touch of another, but also as human punching bags to knock around as they please. They graciously dole out violence as often as they do sex; busted lips, bruised necks and collarbones, bloody knuckles—all are very common sights on the _Finalizer._ Fights aren’t uncommon between Ren and everything that gets in his way, but this is on a completely different level. They’re trapped in a perpetual cycle of loving and hating each other, like some kind of god-forsakened light switch that can’t decide whether it wants to stay on or off.

The truth is, they’re beating on each other not because either is the easier target, but because both of them feel the most _comfortable_ in using each other as targets. Kylo needs Hux; Hux needs Kylo, and they both very well know that after they finish ripping into each other they’ll lie down to bandage each other’s wounds, lick the salt and blood from each other’s lips as if nothing happened. Neither man will run away; they’re tied together at the wrist with the same red cord and it doesn’t matter whether they love or hate each other that day—they’re anchored down with the same weight. So, instead of lashing out and biting into everyone else around them like rabid dogs and running the risk of destroying their own empire from the inside out, they come down on each other with sharp nails and even sharper tongues. It’s their way of purging themselves; sure, the make-up sex is great, but it’s self-destruction through destructing each other and they can’t stop. They fill the empty spaces in themselves with so much of each other that now they carry a piece of their counterpart wherever they go. 

And this is exactly what Hux is trying _not_ to do. He doesn’t want to let anyone else in, because look at where it’s gotten him. He needs to take back his heart, put up the walls, and stay away from everyone and everything that might tear him to pieces—again. But then, there’s Ren.   
He comes at Hux like a battering ram; _I’ll tear down your walls._ He’s relentless, just like Armitage, and he takes what he wants, whenever he wants it.  
_I have what you need._ And Hux can’t resist it.  
He’s trying so hard to keep Kylo out, trying so hard to push him away, and yet every time he finds himself imploding, caving in to the painful and temporary solution that sure as hell won’t solve his problem, because there’s something about the man that’s just so irresistible. Maybe it’s because of the way they push and pull each other; they feed off of each other’s negativity and despair like a pair of disgusting emotional leeches, provide each other with the push they need to send them over the edge. They work each other up into frenzies that neither can achieve on their own, feed each other’s wild drive to conquer and go forth conquering, and when one says “ _jump_ ”, the other doesn’t say “ _How high_?”.

They say _“I’ll jump with you”._

Hux knows that he needs to stop, needs to rip this facet of Ren out by the roots because it’s growing inside of him like a cancer, but he likes to pretend he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on anymore. He likes to think that he’s fine, that he doesn’t need Kylo, that he’s perfectly capable of stopping himself whenever he wants, but he knows that it’s all a huge load of bullshit.

Hux should have fucking shot him the head when he had the chance.  
But, per usual, he couldn’t bring himself to do something that would benefit him in the long run.

Just as he’s about to step out of the shower, in walks the bane of his very existence wearing nothing but a towel, and Hux knows exactly why he’s here. The two men exchange intense glares before Kylo advances upon the general and crushes their lips together.

Hux laughs inwardly as he gladly accepts Kylo's advances; He’s caving in yet again and this time he’s past the point of giving a shit. It’s funny to him how no more than thirty seconds ago he was mulling over the thought of what life would be like if he had shot the knight in the head, and now he’s standing in a shower with him, most likely about to have some of the best sex in his life. The hot water is soothing on the still-throbbing bruises that pepper his body as he allows himself to be pressed up against the wall by the very person who administered them, by the very person he wants to permanently cut from his life.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing really does. 

Hux doesn’t care if they’ll catch up to him eventually; it’s always been easier to run away from his problems.

_I’m fine._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update; I've been staying at college well past closing hours working on stuff for my graduating show, so my time has been a bit pinched. Here's a long double-vignette as a peace offering.  
> Enjoy
> 
> Content Warning: Mentions of child abuse.

 

It won’t stop taunting him.

It stares at him from its place on the wall, each hairline crack a testament of his failures.

_On Parnassos, the elder warriors of our clan pass these down on to the next generation of fighters. These are relics of bravery, of strength, and now I pass this to you. Hold this close to your heart and you will never fail, child._

The glass knife has an immaculate shine, polished enough that Kylo can see his broken reflection staring back at him. He’s still in denial about this—doesn’t even realise it—and the adorned blade hanging on the wall across from him doesn’t have to be pressed against his skin to cut so deeply.

The memory of the day she gave it to him is still imbedded in his mind; He had returned from battle, aching and bruised, smeared in blood. Phasma wiped the dirt and grime from his face and placed rough but loving hands on either side of it, lifted his head up as she commended him for his ferocity. Her expression was soft and motherly, warm and tender—this was a side of her that only a select few were permitted to see, and even fewer were aware of its existence.

_I’m proud of you, my child._

And now he can’t even stomach the sight of her gift. Kylo grits his teeth and snarls; The beast inside of him swallows up his grief and longing and spits out swords, and he wants this memory gone, erased from existence so it can’t continue to swallow him whole. He couldn’t save her. He wasn’t quick enough. He wasn’t strong enough. The guilt haunts him at night, and coupled with the visions of her that come to him in his dreams he feels his grip on rationality beginning its slow and painful unraveling. The reminders of her are everywhere and since he can’t ignore them anymore, do as Hux does and pretend they never existed at all (his tenacity is something Kylo can’t help but be envious of), he’s going to cut them out of his life completely.

He extends his arm towards the blade and it flies from the wall into his grasp. He clasps it with both hands and tightens his grip on it as if to choke the life from it; he’s sick of it mocking him.

_Let the past die._

His grip is punishing, but not enough. He could use the Force to disintegrate it, pulverise it to pieces with sheer mental willpower alone, but he wants to feel the physical sensation of destroying it with his own hands. He needs the process of murdering this memory to be able to let go, needs to feel it shattering.

_Kill it, if you have to._

He can feel the blade biting through glove and skin, then down to bone, but he doesn’t care—he needs to keep crushing it in. The pain is becoming unbearable now and he soaks it in, uses it as a catalyst to fuel his impulsivity. He bites down hard on his lip to mitigate the agony as he tightens and tightens and tightens his grip. The feeling of the blood flooding over his hands is his absolution; this is his way of purging himself, this is his way of getting rid of the hurt.  _Just a little more, just a little more, and then she’ll finally be dead._  He hears the distinct chink of glass cracking as it shatter in his hands and freezes. Kylo slowly uncurls his fingers and the shards fall to the ground, tinkling like little bells as they hit and scatter across the cold floor, and he realises what he’s done.

He sinks to his knees, turns his hands palm-up to examine the damage; The scars will be dark and deep and permanent when they heal.

He doubles over and brings his hands up to his face to muffle the screams; he’s destroyed one of his most cherished reminders of her.

And created an even more painful one across his skin.

* * *

Hux’s hand is shaking.

It’s all he can do to keep the silver pen in his left hand. He never thought that something so trivial as a writing utensil would cause him this much distress, but here he is, struggling just to scribble basic letters and numbers. He hunches over his desk, head resting on his right hand, holding his breath and counting to three, then exhaling and counting to three.

He’s trying to hold himself together as best he can, but the memories keep flooding back in droves.

_It’s a stupid pen. Why is this happening?_

It’s not like it’s anything special. It’s not like it was a gift or anything. It’s not like she thought giving it to him would mean anything significant.

It was just in simple passing through the corridors of the  _Finalizer_ when she pushed the small box into his hands, said nothing more than a quick  _happy birthday_  and went about her habitual patrolling of the ship. When Hux returned to his chambers, he tore off the crudely wrapped packaging and opened it to find a gleaming silver pen. Phasma knew that he likes handwriting as many documents as he can get away and the pen wasn’t just a thoughtless gesture. She was much more observant than she let on, and every move she made was well calculated and deliberate. She didn’t make impulsive decisions like Ren; when she made a choice, she poured a piece of herself into it as well.

It’s what made her a great leader.  
And an even greater friend.

Hux toys with the pen in his hand, taps it on his desk. Phasma had definitely put a lot of thought into this; she knew he likes silver, she knew what type of ink he preferred, she knew  _everything_ , and she probably spent hours picking out the right gift for him. Just the thought of Phasma at a stationary store hunched over a display of pens, carefully examining each one and tapping her chin with a finger while deep in concentration is enough for Hux to allow himself a quiet laugh, bittersweet and melancholic. The object itself is a haunting reminder of days long passed, and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth knowing that he'll never get them back. He misses her.

He misses her so much.

He hears something drip onto the stack of papers on his desk and looks down to see a wet mark staining the corner of a page. He slowly brings a hand to his face and feels the wetness under his eyes, feels the little trail of water that’s running down his cheek, and he’s astounded at himself.

_Stop crying, boy._

He hears his father’s voice in his head and flinches without thinking, waiting for the unseen hand to hit him across the face—but it never comes. His pulse quickens, he clenches his teeth, he stiffens his back as the memory replays itself over and over and over in his head, but the sharp clatter of his pen as it hits the desk finally pulls him from his paralysis.

The emotional turmoil he’s been trapped writhing in has done more than a stellar job of uprooting buried emotions from a violent past that he thought he had suppressed long ago, and it’s making him sick. He rises from his seat; he needs fresher air and a drink. He needs a distraction. As he pulls on his greatcoat, he stares at the writing utensil.

Who knew that a simple pen could cause him such pain.

Before he leaves for the officer’s mess hall, he quietly slips it intro a drawer, sets a stack of papers on it, and buries the past.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I might change the uploading schedule from Fridays to Saturdays; the painting studio isn't open on weekends so I can't go out to work myself like a dog and not have time to update this fic for you guys.  
> Anyways, things are really starting to strain these two bastards now, and we all know what happens when you put too much strain on something.  
> It breaks.  
> Enjoy this horrible chapter.
> 
> Content Warning: Eating disorder/Self-inflicted starvation as a coping mechanism

 

“You need to eat.”

The command comes clearly, blunty, as Kylo forces the protein bar into Hux’s hands and continues pacing around the room.

The general stares at him coldly; steel eyes silently protest Kylo’s actions with a glare yet he accepts the ration without objection.

“ _This_ is what you called me in for? Really, Ren?”

Kylo stops his pacing to shoot Hux a snarl that could split skulls, which prompts the general to start fumbling at the bar’s packaging. Slim fingers tear and pluck away at shrink wrap like carrion birds ripping into a carcass and Hux snaps off a piece of the bar and pops it into his mouth.

“Bland as always.”  
“I’m not fucking around, Armitage.”  
“Neither am I,” Hux's voice has a cold snap to it.

Kylo snorts and picks up his pacing, brings shaking hands up to his head to massage his temples; his migraine is starting to split his skull in two. He’s kicking himself over this, doesn’t know how he let this simple observation slip under his radar for so long. He’s been so caught up in wrestling with his own demons that he’s neglected to look for the painfully obvious signs in others, and he must be the blindest bastard in the galaxy to not have noticed that Hux's sharp and angular cheekbones, loose and misfitting uniforms, and habitual absences in the officer's dining hall were all dead giveaways

“Look at yourself!” He throws his hands up in anger as he turns on his heel to pace away from Armitage. "Look in the damn mirror! You're wasting away. How long are you going to ignore this for? How long are you going to pretend that everything is okay, that nothing is wrong?"

"I'm fine."

Kylo whips around and points an accusing finger at the general.

"No. No you're not. Don't lie to my face, Armitage."

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

Kylo growls; He gets right up into Hux’s face, so close the general can feel his hot breath hitting him in short bursts. “Do you think I'm stupid? Last night, when you were in bed with me, when I was running my hands across you, I noticed it. I noticed I can start to feel ribs, Armitage. _Ribs._ Why are you doing this to yourself?!”

Hux looks at him with a certain distance in his eyes and Kylo searches in it for any cracks, for any sign of a weak spot, but can't find any at all. This has always been the general’s strong point—concealing his emotions. He’s so good at keeping everyone and everything at arm’s length, at protecting himself from anything that may threaten to break down the walls he’s built so high, that it's nearly impossible to spot when he's starting to crumble beneath that expertly crafted facade. Hux cocks a red eyebrow at the supreme leader and takes another bite of the protein bar. He knows he’s trying the knight’s patience.

“Because I deserve it,” comes the reply, almost nonchalantly.

Kylo’s jaw goes slack, like a door loose on its hinges, and he stares at Hux in disbelief.

“ _Deserve_ it? Are you serious? What in the hell is convincing you to think that?”  
“That’s none of your concern.”  
“Tell me."  
"I'd rather not."  
"That’s an order. Or else I’ll just pry the answer from you myself; You know I can take what I want.”  
"Then try me.”

Kylo is seething now. He lunges towards Hux with a stomp and grips his hand around the general’s chin, pinning him in place with his stare. Getting into Hux’s thoughts is like trying to pry an iron door off of a safe with a rusted crowbar. And the safe has a lock. And another lock. And another lock. It’s not impossible, but Armitage is putting up one hell of a fight. Even though both men are standing completely still, they’re locked in an internal battle where they’re tearing into each other like starving animals.

Kylo finally finds a crack, breaks his way in against the general's will, and digs up his answers; what he finds makes him immediately break his grip on Hux and take a step backwards, leaving both of them mentally drained and panting and to Hux, Kylo almost looks  _scared._

“Guilty,” Kylo mutters, bottom lip quivering. “You’re doing this because you feel _guilty._ This is your way of punishing yourself because you think you failed. You’re a mess on the inside, full of crushing guilt and self-loathing. On the surface you look calm and collected—almost proud—but internally…you’re just as broken as I am.”

Hux is silent as he catches his breath, neither confirming nor denying Kylo’s statement because there’s no use; the knight already got his answer.

“This is your way of coping over the loss. This is the only way you think you have control over your feelings. You..You think it’s your fault.”

Ren’s expression goes soft, almost oddly empathetic as if to say _I share your pain ._

“Let it go, Armitage. There’s nothing you could have done,” Kylo’s voice is delicate. Convincing. He extends a hand to the general. “ There’s nothing we could have done.”

Kylo pauses to wets chapped lips with a tongue as he waits for the general to come over to him. The knight’s expression is calling him over now and the idea of giving in to fall into Ren’s embrace is irrefutably tempting

Hux stays away.

“You know this just as well as I do. Come here. _Let me help you.”_

Hux roots himself in place as he silently takes another bite of the protein bar.

“ _Please._ ”

Kylo takes a step towards Hux, but before he has time to react the barrel of a blaster is pointed right between his eyes.

“Back off, Ren,” Hux hisses. Kylo recoils, visibly stung. He angrily crumples his face, grinds his teeth together.

Without a moment’s notice, he violently Force-shoves everything off of the desk next to him; cups and documents and expensive gadgets are thrown to the ground and clatter against the floor. Unphased, Hux remains still and expressionless. Papers flutter helplessly like broken-winged birds, and he takes note that they aren’t too different from Ren's fragile state of mind.

Kylo lets out a low growl; He balls his hands into fists as he begins retreating with slow, deliberate steps, eyes locked on Hux.

“Fine. _Fine,”_ he spits through clenched teeth and he’s shaking now. _“_ See if I care; see if I give a shit. Do what you want.”

Kylo turns on a heel and opens the door. He lingers for just a moment in the threshold.

“Waste away to nothing, like you want to.”

The door slides closed with a soft hiss as he leaves.

Hux finishes the last bite of the protein bar and flicks away the wrapper before he brings a hand up to his chest to feel around. He’s no walking skeleton, not by a long shot; but the ribs are definitely _there._ He’s done such an excellent job at suppressing his pain instead of coping with it in a constructive manner that he doesn’t realise he’s already riding the downward spiral to the bottom. Kylo was telling the truth.

He never intended to be this hard on himself.  
Then again, he never intended to fail so badly.  
But failure is all he knows.  
He was never good enough for his father; always letting him down, always failing.  
He wasn’t good enough for Phasma; he failed her, too.  
And now he’s failing the only person left for him.

He grabs his coat and leaves.  
He has work to do.  
And feelings to ignore.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saturday updates it is, haha. Decided not to torture our poor boys for a change--but that'll be rectified soon, don't worry.  
> Until then, enjoy.

 

That’s when he hears it:

The sharp unmistakable ping of a scanner. The sound bites through the air, echoes down the halls, and by the fourth ring a black clad figure is tearing his way down the corridors of the _Finalizer_ to the tracking and surveillance room. He rushes through the door, throws himself into a seat at the console, slams his cup of caf down on it, and as he pants from exhaustion he turns to the figure that’s been seated there for hours.

Hux sees it in Kylo’s dark eyes as they scan the holographic map before them.  
He knows that look. Even though the room is dim he can see galaxies in their blackness. Deep. Unfathomable.

And this is finally it. This is what they've been waiting so long for.

The knight swipes a hand across the pale blue interactive solar system, fingers dancing over the stars to turn the little universe with a flick of his wrist and it obeys. The red pinpoint blinks softly, a beacon of hope in the dead vacuity of space, and with a peck from Kylo’s finger the map zooms in to display the planet it’s positioned on, and it makes Hux’s breath snag in his throat.

_There she is._

The signal blinks from a flickering pale moon over a flickering pale planet, so far from the Outer Rim that it doesn’t even have a name. Still, it has coordinates, and that’s more than enough for Hux to page Navigation and Reconnaissance over the comm and order a squadron off in its direction.

He leans back in his seat and takes a moment to just _look_ at the galaxy spread across the room around him. Hux doesn’t know how much time has passed since this place became somewhere so often frequented. Days, weeks, perhaps even months—He can’t even guess—but ever since Phasma disappeared, time passes differently now.

Hux feels a cold hand slither down his wrist and awkwardly lace fingers between his own. He doesn’t blame Kylo for his clumsiness; he’s shaking, too. Still, he returns the gesture and takes Kylo’s hand in his.

They stare at the blinking red pinprick for what seems to be hours. The sharp ping of the tracker has quieted now to something that more resembles the dull beat of a heart; each pulse tells them _I am still alive._

_I am still here._

It’s giving them just one more thing to grasp on to; one little shred of hope to keep them from drowning at the bottom. Hux silently hopes that this will slow their way down the self-destructive spiral. For a moment, he dreams of a Kylo who doesn’t spit fire and dole out punishments like prayers, who doesn’t wake in the middle of the night screaming from dismal visions of somebody he can’t reach out to, who Hux can wake up next to and see dozing peacefully in bed, curled against him like a cat. He daydreams of a version of himself who isn’t sullen and withdrawn, who isn’t wasting away in silence as he pretends that nothing is wrong, who isn’t working himself so hard that he forgets to eat, forgets to sleep. But, most of all, he daydreams of _her_ and the moment she walks through the hangar up to the bridge, safe, alive, _there_. However, his thoughts are interrupted by a quiet sob and he turns to the man next to him.

He knows that Kylo has been skimming his thoughts and when he makes eye contact with the knight, his eyes tell Hux that he dreams for the same things, too.

Maybe—just _maybe_ —they can stop self destructing now.  
For the first time in forever, Hux feels like he has the strength enough to stomach a meal.

Kylo grips his hand tighter.  
They don’t need to say anything to know how the other feels.

Their silence speaks volumes by itself.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is super late, oh mannnnnn. It's extra long, so hopefully that makes up for the wait.
> 
>  **Content Warning** : this could be a really difficult chapter to digest if you have mental health complications. I've always felt that Kylo has some form of unchecked mood disorder, judging by his actions and the way he interacts with others (and himself), and a lot of his aggression and outbursts are probably mania or mixed-episode induced. He's someone who's perpetually swinging on a pendulum, trying his hardest to look calm and collected but is in a constant state of internal struggle that makes him incredibly prone to breaking at the drop of a dime. I myself have professionally diagnosed Bipolar disorder and this piece was heavily inspired by the last major mixed episode I had, and am currently dealing with now (which also explains why this update is so horrendously late).  
> This chapter isn't necessary to understand the overarching storyline I've crafted, so it's totally fine to skip over if it's going to be triggering.  
>   
> 

_“Ren.”_

He stops in his tracks.  
The hallway is silent, save for the gentle rustle of his cape as it flutters to a halt behind him. He feels the pinpricks in his skin, the electricity in his fingertips, and the sudden awareness that something is wrong, but he can’t quite figure out why. He pays it no mind and keeps walking, but it still gives him the chills.

_“Ren.”_

A woman’s voice; barely audible, yet hard and sharp like jagged rocks. It comes from behind him and creeps over his shoulder to whisper in his ear, and he can feel his body involuntarily tense. Strange—He swears that he knows that voice. Unsettled but stubborn, Kylo shrugs it off and continues down the hall to the bridge of the _Finalizer_. The place is loud and chatty; dozens of officers dart to and fro and the soft beeps of droids provide a soundtrack to the perpetual commotion. It’s so loud that Kylo is more than sure he won't be able to hear any whispering from behind his back--let alone hear himself think--and even though it helps give him peace of mind, he still has the chills.  
Paranoia is a beast that the knight is well acquainted with.

_“Ren.”_

There it is. Again.  
He freezes in place. There's no way in  _hell_ that he should be hearing this.   
As he glances over his shoulder, he feels his chest tightening.

No one.

He _has_ to be hearing things, now; There’s no way Phasma can be here. No damn way.

She’s gone, millions of light years away on an unmarked planet in an unmarked sector of the galaxy—Kylo knows this because they picked up the tracking signal in her helmet mere days ago--and until they get her back, the _Finalizer_ is filled with nothing but silent ghosts and painful reminders of her.  
Those words are so real to him, though; Her tone, the sound, everything down to the very inflection of his name is genuine enough to plant a seed of doubt in his mind that maybe, _maybe_ she’s actually here.

He feels panic tugging at his fraying edges now, his pulse quickens, and suddenly, even the most feather-light touch against his skin makes him irritated. He flexes his fingers; the feeling of the soft leather gloves on his hands is enough to make him want to tear and scratch at his skin. The military style collar of his tunic now feels like a dog collar, suffocating and tight, and it’s only serving to amplify the intense sensation of needing to claw himself out of it.

Kylo glances nervously around the bridge as he peels his gloves off; officers come and go with stacks of paper and datapads in their hands. Engineers sit at their consoles and mutter words that he suddenly can’t make out anymore— _why the hell can’t he understand them_ —and that only hastens the oncoming anxiety. Kylo silently prays that nobody is catching on to his atypical behaviour and sweat begins to bead at his brow.  It’s hard to breathe. There’s a lump in his throat the size of a fist; he coughs dryly but it doesn’t help, and dammit just why is everything so _irritating?_ The room has become a cage, he feels like there’s a thousand eyes watching his every move, and the air in the room is so thick it's nearly palpable.

_What if they can see in his head? What if they can read his thoughts?_

He scratches nervously at the back of a hand, trying to ease the discomfort of being in his own skin. Everything is so grating, why does everything feel so _fucking uncomfortable_ , and now he’s fighting with this extreme paranoia that suddenly everybody is reading his mind. Maybe there’s hidden Force-sensitives in here—he doesn’t know--but now the urge to ignite his lightsaber and kill them all is awfully tempting. Half of him knows it’s irrational but all these racing thoughts do is add more fuel to the already unstoppable conflagration of anxiety, and to his other half it makes perfect sense.

Then, he breaks.

It hits him like a star destroyer nose-diving right into the ground, shattering him into a million little pieces.

He needs to get out, _now;_ every little motion he makes is so overstimulating that he wants to rip himself out of his own skin. Chills are replaced with a million needles. He needs to leave. He hears mumbling again; there’s been an officer trying to speak with him the entire time but he can’t process words or phrases anymore. Everything is just coming out as garbled _sounds_ , and he needs to _run._

Kylo does a one-eighty on his heel and bolts for the exit; he knows he’s in full blown panic, knows he’s making a scene—hyperaware of it, really—and he feels a hundred eyes locked on him as he escapes the bridge. Even the feeling of his hair against his face, now sticky and matted with sweat, makes him want to scream, rip at it with fingers like talons, do something,  _anything_ that will stop whatever is causing the feeling of electricity shooting through his body. There’s a pounding in his head now and it takes him a moment to realise that what he’s hearing isn’t his feet hitting in the steel flooring, but the sound of his heartbeat, wild and terrified.

 _Faster. He needs to go faster._ Kylo doesn’t know what he’s running from--all he knows is that escaping is the only solution.

He stumbles into his quarters, barely even able to stand on his own feet and off comes the cape. He grasps at the collar of his tunic, fingers searching frantically for the eyelet and zipper, and off goes that, too. Undershirt, trousers, boots--they all have to go. When he can finally breathe again, when the sensation of being pricked all over with pins begins to dull, he falls onto his bed and crumples himself up like a piece of discarded paper. 

A shaking hand searches around the desk next to him for the commlink and he pages the only person he trusts enough to see him in this fragile and traumatized state of mind. Kylo can’t speak when Armitage answers; his voice will only tremble and crack. The notification alone should get the message across. As the commlink goes off with a soft beep, Kylo pulls the covers on his bed around him and waits for his body to stop trembling.

The heaviness on his chest has already been replaced with a lightness, as if he were a free floating balloon threatening to drift off. Everything feels foreign to him. Disconnected. Instead of overstimulation it's numbness; instead of paranoia it's apathy. Kylo could care less about everything and everyone around him. He’s cold and detached and indifferent; the room could be on fire and it still wouldn’t be enough to make him move. He can no longer feel the bed he lays on, the blankets swathed around him. He knows he's there, but it doesn't feel like it. The echoes in his head linger like ghosts.  
He's in his shell now; it's closed in and safe. Kylo hates being here, but it serves a purpose for him. Looking at the world around him is like looking through frosted glass; hazy and indiscernible. He feels flat. His thoughts are no longer bigger or louder, but he also wonders if he's too far deep now. Wonders if he'll ever be able to tear his way out again.

He finally managed to escape himself, he supposes.

Suddenly, the covers pull back, arms wrap themselves around him, and he’s being embraced, cradled like a helpless child. A voice reassures him that he’s going to be fine and the warmth is soothing. Kylo buries his face in bright red hair, finally giving up on holding back tears, and Armitage pulls the blanket around them. His body is slowly returning to him; it starts in his fingertips and travels up his arms, over the skin of his shoulders and back that are marred with a decade's worth of scars. He's beginning to feel again--The softness, the warmth--and his breathing is finally beginning to even out.

He reaches out; touches everything. He touches the sheets of his bed, coarse and fibrous, the tactile sensations no longer cause discomfort. He touches the general's uniform. It's smooth. He focuses on its softness. The lights in the room grow brighter; The haziness is lifting. He touches Armitage's face and feels the smoothness, the imperfections that catch under his fingertips. Kylo is finally coming down, down, down, after being up in the nothingness for so long. He drags himself from that other place; he doesn't want to be there anymore. He's ready to come back. To be  _here._ With  _him._

There’s a closeness between them now that wasn’t there before.

The air in the room feels warm. They lay against each other in silence.  
Armitage gives Kylo all of the time in the world to regain his bearings.  
He also gives Kylo a reason to keep going. 


End file.
